


Eatewedd

by softestpunk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Ciaran suffers a lot, Elihal and Éibhear are actually disgustingly cute it's gross, Hurt/Comfort, Iorveth is Iorveth, M/M, but he's very pretty while he does it, oh so much angst, there's also quite a bit of elf-on-elf action but none of it is explicit, this ends in a happy OT3 do not worry, touches on Cedric's alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 20:32:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17168915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Cedric has a vision of Ciaran's death, and just this once, he has time to save him. In the aftermath, they grow closer, and find something new and wonderful blooming between them.And then Iorveth comes back.





	Eatewedd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/gifts).



> A slightly late Christmas gift <3

Cedric woke with sweat cooling on the back of his neck and a familiar tightness in his gut, images from his dream still swirling in his head.

Ciaran. Oh, _Ciaran_.

Visions were sickening at the best of times, but this one… this one threatened to break his heart.

Ciaran, discarded like rubbish, dying alone on the shore by the docks, so far from the forest, so far from his people. The worst death Cedric could imagine, especially for such a young elf who had known so little of life.

He would not be alone, Cedric decided. Or if it was too late, he would at least not be left for the river or the scavengers to take him. He would have a proper funeral, an elven funeral, a last rite denied him by his reckless leader who he had given so much faith to.

Rising from his cot, Cedric dressed warmly and made his way to where he’d seen Ciaran breathing his last breath in the dream. The spot was familiar to him, and he knew the way even in the dark.

His heart lurched as he saw the dark shape lying still on the cold, damp ground, not a blade of grass underneath him, nothing to usher him gently into the forest of the afterlife. No, no, _no_.

Blood pounding in his ears, Cedric rushed over and gathered the little elf up in his arms, hot, stinging tears welling up in his eyes as he rocked him back and forth, grief overwhelming him. They’d lost so many, and Ciaran was impossibly young.

A sudden gasp shocked him so badly that he nearly let go of Ciaran’s small frame, but stopped himself before he let the other elf fall again.

Not dead.

Breathing.

Cedric pressed his ear to Ciaran’s bloodied chest, closing his eyes to focus on the barely-there beat of his heart.

Barely-there, but salvagable. This elf wasn’t dead.

And whatever his vision had shown him, he didn’t _have_ to be. Not now. This one could be saved.

And one wasn’t nearly enough, not when they’d lost so many, but it was much, much better than nothing.

“ _C_ _áemm_ , _eatewedd_ ,” Cedric murmured, lifting Ciaran in his arms and holding him close, knowing he needed warmth and contact more than anything right now.

This one elf, he could save.

***

Bone-deep pain registered first in Ciaran’s mind, an ache so overwhelming that opening his eyes was too much effort for his exhausted body. Then, suddenly, the scent of another elf, and the knowledge that there were arms wrapped around him.

 _Arms_ , he told his suddenly-racing heart. _Not bindings. Elf arms. You_ _’re safe._

 _You_ _’re safe._

Cedric.

The thought barrelled into his mind like a bolting horse, enough to make his already pounding head spin with the intensity of it. He recognised this scent, though he had not been near it for a long time.

Cedric’s nose pressed against his nape, his body heating Ciaran’s back with what little spare warmth elves could muster. Easing the worst of the pain, he had no doubt.

A deep, heartfelt sigh of relief told Ciaran he was awake.

“Welcome back,” Cedric murmurmed. “I was afraid we’d lost you.”

“How…” Ciaran started, his voice cracking before he could get to the rest of the thought.

“I saw you die,” Cedric responded, and Ciaran knew he didn’t mean literally. He meant he’d Seen it, in one of his visions.

And for once, he’d managed to prevent it. At least temporarily.

“Here,” Cedric continued, one arm leaving Ciaran’s chest and then returning to his mouth, pressing a cup against it. “Don’t worry about spilling. Just drink what you can.”

Most of the water—no, tea?—spilled out of Ciaran’s mouth as he worked on drinking sideways, awkwardly, but what little did make it down his throat helped.

“Iorveth,” Ciaran croaked, suddenly remembering his last conversation.

“Has left,” Cedric murmured. “As have we. Flotsam and Lobinden were in chaos when I brought you back, so I must apologise for our current surroundings.”

Ciaran sniffed the air, still too tired to open his eyes, and realised what Cedric was getting at. Damp air and moss.

A cave.

And yet, a cave Cedric had chosen, so Ciaran had every confidence that it was safe. Cedric was the oldest elf Ciaran had ever met, at a little over two hundred.

It made his own thirty years seem like nothing. He was a child in comparison.

Several long moments later, Ciaran realised he’d been left behind, and tears welled up in his eyes. “He just…”

“He believed you were dead, and had very little time to act,” Cedric murmured. “Do not be too hard on Iorveth.”

Ciaran swallowed. If _Cedric_ was willing to give Iorveth the benefit of the doubt, then he probably deserved it. There had been a rift between them for so long, and while Ciaran did not pretend to understand all the details, he knew that Cedric would not defend Iorveth unless his actions were truly defensible.

“Rest, _eatewedd_ ,” Cedric murmured.

 _Eatewedd_. Summer child. The nickname Cedric had bestowed on Ciaran when he’d first discovered their camp, looking for whoever was stealing from Lobinden. He’d left them be, and even come back to bring them supplies when they needed them most.

Ciaran remembered the wonder in his eyes, and the pain. In the same way Ciaran had never met an elf so old before, Cedric hadn’t seen one so young in a long time.

The memory of his shouting match with Iorveth over dragging children into his pointless fight rang in Ciaran’s ears. At the time, he had been insulted to be called a child and angered at the idea that the fight was pointless.

But now the nickname sounded affectionate, and meant warmth and safety, and it was very, very easy to close his eyes and obey his elder while the other elf was holding him near.

***

It was one thing, Cedric reflected, to realise that he could not be an old, half-useless drunk anymore if he wished to take responsibility for an elf who would need months, if not years, to recover his strength, and who would rely almost wholly on Cedric for his needs.

It was another thing entirely to live through his body’s rebellion at sudden sobriety.

Sweat-soaked, pained and nauseated, it was just as well he _couldn_ _’t_ go into town anymore, or his willpower would have shattered into a million pieces. He had been avoiding suffering for so long that he’d almost forgotten what it was like, and this suffering was new, and awful, and something he would just have to shoulder if he wanted to be what Ciaran needed.

His very bones protested by the time he made it back to the cave with a brace of rabbits, thanking every deity in every tongue he knew that his feeble traps had still borne fruit.

Ciaran, finally sleeping deeply, did not stir as Cedric collapsed into the cot beside him, curling around the younger elf’s frame and soaking in his fever-warmth, the contact offering both of them relief.

It occurred to him that they were healing each other, and that later, when Ciaran was well enough to begin to feel guilt over his helplessness, he would have to explain that. This was what elves _did_.

“Thank you, little one,” Cedric murmured against Ciaran’s too-hot skin as his eyelids grew heavy, sleep calling to him.

***

By the time he was able to sit up by himself, Ciaran had no idea how long he’d been with Cedric for. A week? A month? Years?

Time had ceased to exist for him, the dark depths of the cave his only home, greenish sunlight filtering through the entrance, too far away to touch his now deathly-pale skin.

But he was healing. Cedric’s constant attention, his gentle touch, his easy, uncomplaining assistance that was offered before Ciaran might even have to ask were helping him mend.

A pang of guilt hit Ciaran square in the gut as he rolled over to face the other elf on the narrow cot, anxiety and excitement welling up inside him as he considered what he was about to do, what he _longed_ to do.

He shoved the guilt aside with all the viciousness in his small, fragile frame, and reached out to Cedric.

A giddy sense of _rightness_ flowed through Ciaran’s body as his lips touched Cedric’s, the familiar taste and feel of another elf making a bright bubble of joy fill his chest. This was what elves _did_. They loved one another freely, showed affection openly and eagerly.

Humans had infected them with silly ideas about fidelity and what that meant, but Ciaran knew better, and Cedric would have laughed at him for anything less than absolute freedom in this.

If Iorveth didn’t like it, he shouldn’t have left Ciaran behind.

If Iorveth was even still alive.

The sting of the thought spurred him to kiss Cedric ever more desperately, suddenly wishing that he had the energy for something more, to come together with another elf as he hadn’t in so long.

Cedric shushed and gentled him, stroking his hair with long, elegant fingers, humming against his lips.

“Feeling better, _eatewedd_?”

“I am now,” Ciaran murmured, shuffling closer to rest his forehead against Cedric’s shoulder. “Thank you. For everything. I’m not sure I’ve said.”

“Your being here is thanks enough,” Cedric responded. “But your affection is eagerly returned.”

Ciaran buried a smile against Cedric’s shoulder, breathed the scent of him in deeply, and let his constant exhaustion lull him back to sleep with fingers carding through his hair.

***

It took a month and a day by the elven calendar before Cedric felt he could move Ciaran, and even then the other elf had to be carried. If Ciaran was ever going to recover properly, he needed the warmth of solid walls and the certainty of regular meals, and that meant civilisation, where there would be work—and hopefully, other elves.

The travelling merchant Cedric convinced to allow them to huddle in the back of her wagon believed that she was taking pity on two war-battered elves when she accepted the herbs he had to trade for the service, but Cedric knew—the way he so often Knew—that she would have need of them soon.

Cedric cushioned Ciaran’s still-healing body with his own, the empty ache of sobriety still sitting heavy in his gut. It was not, he thought, worse than Ciaran’s own suffering, and in any case he was better equipped to handle it.

Ciaran bit his lip bloody trying to stop himself from sobbing over particularly uneven stretches of road, and as long as they weren’t being watched, Cedric soothed him with kisses and licked the blood away from his mouth and held him just a little tighter, his heart breaking for this young elf who’d barely seen the world and was now passing it by in agony.

He would live, Cedric told himself. He would live, and he would heal, and people would marvel over how beautiful he was for centuries, the way Cedric himself marvelled whenever he saw Ciaran in the light.

The Free City of Novigrad loomed on the horizon early one dull, grey morning, and Cedric let out a breath he felt he had been holding for weeks.

***

After a week in Novigrad, with walls and decent food and a comfortable bed, Ciaran was practically glowing with renewed health. At least, from his own perspective.

Cedric still hovered, but Ciaran couldn’t bring himself to mind that. The older elf calmed his soul, eased the pain—both physical and otherwise—and touched him as often and as affectionately as he wanted.

They made love for the first time while the rain poured outside, bodies intertwined like vines growing anew in the spring, the bed creaking under them and the world beyond their four cozy walls oblivious. It was the most elven Ciaran had ever felt, basking in the glorious, unhurried pleasure of Cedric’s touch, their skin sliding easily, fingers clasped, heartbeats becoming one as they writhed together, ascended to the very peak of pleasure, and then crashed down into the world again.

A world where they were together, and safe, and alone, but, Ciaran thought, happy.

In the morning, Ciaran took on work repairing fishing nets. His delicate fingers, he was assured by a rough but kind human on the docks, would be perfect for the job.

They ached once he was finished, and Cedric pulled and stretched and eased them with his own, pressing them to his chest for warmth once they were in bed.

“You need not work, _eatewedd_. I can take care of both of us.”

Ciaran shook his head. “We take care of each other. That is what elves _do._ ”

Cedric sighed, and reached out to tuck an overgrown lock behind Ciaran’s ear, and Ciaran smiled at him.

“Besides,” he added, brushing his nose against Cedric’s as he leaned in for a kiss. “Don’t you elders always complain that younglings have no sense of responsibility? You should be pleased.”

Cedric laughed, a rare sound that Ciaran felt the need to store away in his heart for later, and kissed him back.

“You were never allowed to be a child,” Cedric murmured. “I would have liked to give you that.”

“We must all grow up,” Ciaran said, knowing he was repeating something Iorveth had said once and feeling a pang in the centre of his chest. It had been months now, and Aedirn was lost, and he had not heard a single whisper of a one-eyed elf, causing trouble or otherwise.

Iorveth was gone, and it made his stomach ache to think of him.

Cedric gathered him up in his arms without needing to hear a word, holding him close as tears came.

***

Ciaran quickly made himself a very popular elf among the population of The Bits, befriending first a chipper city elf who worked as a tailor, and then a half-elf who worked as a blacksmith. Dandelion and Zoltan Chivay arrived in town and renovated a brothel into a tavern, and Cedric did not trust himself well enough to go to them yet, but they often came to see Ciaran.

It was no surprise to Cedric that Ciaran made friends so easily. Aside from being beautiful, he was sweet, and kind, and wiser than his years should have allowed.

He glowed when he had company, a shining beacon of elven elegance.

And Cedric had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

“Do I look ridiculous?” Ciaran asked, grinning at Elihal—the tailor—as the other elf finished lining his eyes with kohl. They played together like this often, and it warmed Cedric’s heart to see Ciaran making friends.

Especially friends with elves who were settled, and comfortable with themselves, and just a little older than he was. Peers who set good examples.

Elihal, despite having lived in Novigrad all his life, was still very elven in his own way. Cedric approved of him, and even his half-elf mate who was much more interested in the elven side of his heritage than the human.

He had confessed to Cedric that he never knew his human father and did not wish to, and Cedric’s heart had broken for him, and he had mentally added Elihal and Éibhear to his growing little family.

“It suits you better than it does me,” Elihal insisted. “If I didn’t adore you so much I would hate you for how beautiful you are. Isn’t he beautiful, Cedric?”

Cedric turned to look, taking in Ciaran’s features—gently enhanced by the dark lines around his eyes, making them appear much larger than usual—and found himself at a loss for words.

Elihal grinned broadly. “That is the look of an elf who wants to be alone with his mate,” he said, packing away his things but leaving the kohl on the nightstand, clearly a gift for Ciaran. “So I will take my leave and wish you a _very_ good evening.”

Cedric watched with his heart pounding in his chest as Elihal kissed Ciaran softly, and then turned and headed for the door, throwing a wink to the younger elf before closing it behind him.

Ciaran laughed nervously once Elihal’s footsteps faded out of earshot, still sitting cross-legged on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve never said you were… Elihal was making an assumption and I…”

“I’m flattered you didn’t rush to correct him,” Cedric said gently, putting away the last of his work for the day. “Though I do not flatter myself so much as to believe you might think of me as that.”

“I could,” Ciaran said.

If Cedric hadn’t known better, he might have thought that was _hope_ in Ciaran’s voice.

“I am too old,” Cedric responded automatically. He’d had this conversation with himself before.

He considered Ciaran family, but that did not have to mean it went both ways. Certainly not like _this_.

“I would have you for as long as I can,” Ciaran said, and it was impossible to misread that. Even without the absolute certainty of his tone. “I… I love you,” he continued, looking down into his lap.

“I know I’m little more than a child to you, I know I must seem impossibly young and that must make it ring hollow, but… I love you.”

Cedric swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. “And I you,” he said. “With all my heart.”

Ciaran looked up, his eyes shining with adoration, and Cedric couldn’t deny what he was seeing. Somehow, impossibly, this beautiful little elf loved him.

“We _are_ alone,” he said, beaming brightly up at Cedric, his eyes glittering with possibilities.

Cedric rose from the table and crossed their little hut, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We are,” he agreed, though he didn’t feel alone at all.

***

Not for the first time, Iorveth cursed himself for being the most recogniseable elf on the Continent. For the most part, they all looked the same to humans, but he was distinctive enough to be recognised from little more than tales of his existence.

Which meant he was creeping around in the failing light on the outskirts of Novigrad, searching for the particular hut he’d been promised held what he was looking for.

And _another elf_ , whoever that might have been. In the chaos, it had been impossible to know.

The workbench full of hunters’ traps in various states of disrepair was exactly what he was looking for. Elven craftsmanship on the repairs.

This was the place. It _had_ to be.

Ciaran.

Iorveth paused at the thought, biting down on his lip to stop tears from coming. It had been so long, and he’d been so _certain_ Ciaran was dead, but…

If there was any chance, he had to know.

As quietly as he could, Iorveth climbed through the window and into the surprising warmth of the hut beyond, his gaze immediately going to the bed.

Where there were two naked elves just barely illuminated by the embers of the dying fire in the hearth.

Ciaran, his chest rising and falling slowly, peaceful in sleep.

And Cedric, eyes open and fixed on Iorveth.

“We heard rumours that you were dead,” Cedric murmured, tightening his hold on Ciaran just a fraction, as though…

As though Iorveth was there to hurt him, which was what he’d always known would happen. And it had.

It was a miracle that he was alive.

“I’m sure you would have preferred them to be true,” Iorveth said, too tired to make the words as harsh as he wanted them.

There were two elves he’d thought long dead in front of him, both of them wonderfully alive, and he could not bring himself to argue with Cedric. He’d been right.

All of this had been for nothing. The suffering and death hadn’t gotten any elf even a half-step closer to freedom.

Cedric had managed to save more lives than Iorveth ever did, and the thought that the number was _one_ made it all the worse.

“Never,” Cedric murmured. “Not for a moment.”

Iorveth breathed a sigh of relief. Cedric wasn’t about to throw him out, at least.

“I can’t offer you anything better than a blanket on the floor,” Cedric continued. “But you are welcome to stay.”

“I’ve been sleeping on the bare ground without one,” Iorveth said. “Thank you.”

***

Ciaran tripped over Iorveth as he climbed out of bed, which wasn’t exactly the tearful reunion he’d once fantasised about, but did have the advantage of leaving him sprawled on top of him.

Tears welled up in his eyes all the same as Iorveth grunted, stiffened, and then stared at him.

“I thought you were dead,” Ciaran whispered, half-afraid that saying it would make it true even with Iorveth’s warm body under him.

“I thought _you_ were dead,” Iorveth responded, voice cracking. “I looked for you, but I couldn’t…”

“You left me,” Ciaran said, the nearly-forgotten hurt welling up in his chest again. Why hadn’t Iorveth come sooner?

“You were gone,” Iorveth responded, not quite a defense. “Everything happened so quickly. I’m sorry, I…”

Ciaran looked at him, realising he was on the verge of saying something important.

“I will earn your forgiveness,” Iorveth said, finally. “If you will allow me the chance.”

Hot tears trickled down Ciaran’s cheeks as he wrapped his arms around Iorveth, holding him with all his strength until his muscles ached, breathing a sigh of relief when Iorveth hugged back, the contact enough to knit some long-forgotten part of himself back together, old wounds finally beginning to heal.

A blanket falling over his shoulders made Ciaran start, but the touch of Cedric’s fingers in his hair reassured him.

“You ought to move to the bed,” Cedric murmured. Not addressing Ciaran, but Iorveth. “He still needs the warmth.”

Without a word, Iorveth gathered Ciaran up in his arms and moved them both to the bed, too small for all three of them at once, and climbed into the bed, still warm from his and Cedric’s bodies.

With Iorveth curled around him, Ciaran watched Cedric dress for the day.

***

As a sign of goodwill, Cedric made an effort to acquire a mattress for Iorveth and have it delivered to his and Ciaran’s hut.

He would share. Elves shared, and though Ciaran was perhaps too young, too used to human ideas, he planned to at least offer the option.

The thought of losing Ciaran to Iorveth after all this time sat uncomfortably in his belly as he collected traps from the woods. It was, at least, a relief to see that all of them had managed to catch _something_. They would not have to worry about money just yet.

Iorveth was sitting outside smoking a pipe when Cedric returned, alone.

“I take it the mattress means you plan to allow me to stay,” Iorveth said, blowing an elegant smoke ring.

At least he hadn’t done it directly in Cedric’s face.

“What else were you expecting?”

“From you?” Iorveth asked, raising an eyebrow. “An order never to show my face here again.”

Cedric sighed, sitting down beside Iorveth and taking his pipe when it was offered, breathing in a lungful of smoke and coughing as he exhaled, having become unused to it.

“Where’s Ciaran?” Cedric asked, wanting to know whether or not he needed to be concerned about being overheard.

“Gone to deliver a package to the docks. I asked if he wanted company, but I think this has been overwhelming for him and I’m not sure I shouldn’t just disappear again.”

“I will hunt you down,” Cedric said calmly. “He would not survive losing you again, and I will not lose him now.”

“You love him,” Iorveth said perceptively. “You loved him the moment you first saw him. That was why you were so angry at the thought that I might get him killed.”

“You _did_ get him killed,” Cedric responded, leaving the rest of what Iorveth had said for the time being. “If I hadn’t seen him dying…”

“Then you would both be dead,” Iorveth finished. “But you’re right. You have earned the right to call him yours, and I have only ever let him down.”

Cedric sat back, letting his head fall against the wall behind him. “We are not humans, and he is not mine alone. I have no desire to keep him from you. But I would ask… I would ask that you consider not taking him away from me.”

“I wouldn’t let you die like that. Not of grief over losing him,” Iorveth promised. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

Cedric looked down at his knees, letting that remark wash over him, letting the silence stretch out between them. He couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a surprise.

“You offered to earn Ciaran’s forgiveness,” he said eventually. “Why not mine?”

“Because I know better than to think yours can be earned.” Iorveth sighed. “You were right. About everything. About the futility of it all, and how many lives would be lost, and all the suffering. And if you hadn’t been there… if you hadn’t…”

Cedric could _feel_ Iorveth crying without even needing to look at him, and that was enough by itself to break his heart.

He reached out to the other elf, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him close to his chest, pressing a kiss against his exposed ear, letting love and hope flow into him.

They may have had a lot of history to deal with, but Cedric would no more have seen Iorveth suffer than he would Ciaran.

***

As relieved as he was that Cedric had so easily accepted Iorveth’s presence, having to choose between two separate beds wasn’t Ciaran’s preferred way of navigating his changing, fragile relationships with both Cedric and Iorveth. He was so afraid he’d stumble and break one or the other—or _both_ —at any moment.

So after two weeks he had only enjoyed chaste cuddles and a small handful of tender kisses that always made him feel as though he was about to lose something, and he was frustrated, and needy, and no one was telling him what he was allowed and what he wasn’t. What was he supposed to _do_?

The solution came to him one morning, and while he knew it was likely to end in an argument, it would at least bring the subject up for discussion.

Once both Cedric and Iorveth had left to go about their respective jobs—Iorveth had managed to find himself a variety of odd jobs, and Ciaran wasn’t sure he’d ever actually been employed as a civilian before, but he had taken to it well—he set to work. The pallets under the mattress he and Cedric slept on, when he wasn’t sharing the one on the floor with Iorveth, were heavy and difficult to move on his own, but he eventually dragged them outside and set them under the eaves, so that they would at least remain dry if either Cedric or Iorveth insisted on dragging them back in.

Exhausted, he hauled both mattresses into the corner and pushed them together, tucking one large blanket around both to hold them that way and resolving to sew them to each other if this worked.

The effort was enough to make him ache, and after promising himself he’d only lie down for five minutes, he next woke to both Iorveth and Cedric standing over him.

Not inclined to move, he simply sighed and snuggled into the pile of pillows they’d acquired over time, closing his eyes again. “I’m tired of having to choose,” he murmured. “You will simply have to share.”

The sound of boots being kicked off made Ciaran smile.

Soon enough, he was flanked by the two obstinate, difficult elves he’d been hovering between, Cedric curled up behind him and Iorveth facing him.

The second part of his plan was simple enough, though if he had been any less desperate for things to be all right, then he might not have been bold enough to attempt it.

With one hand, he reached out and took Cedric’s, moving it over his hip and between his legs, leaving no room for ambiguity about what he wanted.

With the other, he reached out to Iorveth, drawing him in for a kiss.

To his incredible relief, neither of them objected.

The three of them came together as though it was the most natural thing in the world, moving and touching as one, and Ciaran could never remember being happier or feeling more loved.

Sex with Cedric had always been easy and comforting, but for the first time, the same was true of Iorveth. Before, it had been desperate and awkward, and Ciaran had always been left feeling as though Iorveth’s heart wasn’t quite in it, as though he wasn’t _enough_ , but this time Iorveth touched him eagerly, reverently, unhurried and with warmth and even _laughter_.

Iorveth had never laughed before when they’d done this, and Ciaran’s heart soared to hear it. He kissed the sound out of Iorveth’s mouth eagerly as he peaked, gripping Cedric’s hand tight as well.

Afterwards, he fell asleep sated and exhausted, pressed between the two most important people in the world to him, with a smile on his face.

***

“You are lucky to have him,” Iorveth murmured, nodding to Cedric’s arm thrown over Ciaran’s waist, the three of them still snuggled up together naked.

Iorveth wasn’t sure yet whether he could feel relieved at the current state of affairs, but he certainly felt as though they were all in a better place than they had been.

“I am,” Ciaran agreed. “You could be lucky to have him, too,” he added enthusiastically.

“He hasn’t told you,” Iorveth said, his heart clenching. Now that the words had escaped him, _he_ would have to be the one to break the news to Ciaran.

How could anyone resist those pretty hazel eyes staring at them?

“Cedric and I were lovers,” he explained, reaching out to stroke Ciaran’s hair. “You would have been a babe in arms the last time we were together.”

Ciaran’s face fell, and at the same moment, Iorveth’s stomach dropped.

“But you were so cold with each other,” he said, his voice tiny. “I thought… Cedric never said…”

Iorveth shushed Ciaran gently. “He’s afraid I’ll take you away from him. I’ve promised him that I won’t.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Iorveth knew he’d made a mistake. Ciaran’s gaze turned to ice.

“You’ve promised him,” he said, his words so sharp that Iorveth removed his hand from Ciaran’s hair automatically. “You’ve promised him that you won’t take me away.”

Iorveth swallowed, unsure how to respond, unsure how to stop the sensation that Ciaran was flowing through his fingers like a handful of water.

Ciaran turned his head to look over at Cedric, his pretty eyes still hard.

“And he _let_ you make that promise?” he asked, turning back to Iorveth.

“He… I…” Iorveth flailed, unable to explain himself adequately.

He could see his error. Ciaran was not his to take away, and he was not his to promise to Cedric, and Cedric, clearly, had not made any claim he may have felt to him known.

Despite the fact that love and devotion poured off him in Ciaran’s direction constantly, the stupid _hen seidhe_ hadn’t ever _said_ anything. Too busy playing the aloof elf with all the time in the world.

Cedric’s error, therefore, may have been even worse than Iorveth’s own.

Before Iorveth could figure out what to say, how to fix this, Ciaran was climbing off the mattress over him, leaving him suddenly cold.

***

Cedric woke all of a sudden to the sensation of Ciaran climbing out of bed, and found himself face-to-face with Iorveth, separated only by the narrow space that had contained Ciaran’s body a moment before.

The look on Iorveth’s face made him instantly wary.

All the same, Cedric looked up at Ciaran, curious about what was going on.

“When were you planning on telling me you had… that you both…” Ciaran gestured vaguely between them. “It’s not that I’m upset that you were together,” he said. “But why did neither of you ever _say anything_?”

Ah.

Cedric had never, really, intended to keep his past with Iorveth a secret. In fact, he had assumed Ciaran knew, and that his hesitation to begin the thing between them now had been related to that knowledge.

Clearly, this was new information to the younger elf.

“I believed you knew,” Cedric said softly.

Ciaran’s gaze settled on him, sharp as a razor, and Cedric suddenly regretted speaking at all. “And _you_ ,” he said. “Both of you, to talk about where I would go or stay as though I was property. You are no longer my commanding officer,” he looked at Iorveth. “You left me to die.”

“I’m sorry,” Iorveth said, looking up at Ciaran with so much devotion on his face, so much pain, that Cedric’s heart clenched for him.

Iorveth had said he’d always love him, and Cedric, unfortunately, felt the same way. His heart had been broken over Iorveth’s outright refusal to see the futility of his fight, and it was only now starting to mend. Now that Iorveth was safe, and no longer seemed to want to continue.

“And you are supposed to be my equal,” Ciaran looked at Cedric again. “And I have loved you with all my heart, and you keep secrets from me and treat me as though I were a child under your care. I have given _everything_ for my people. I have very nearly given my life. I have saved yours— _both_ of yours—countless times. And still you treat me as a wayward stripling even as you mourn the loss of my youth. No one has ever asked me what I think.”

Cedric was silent for long moments. Ciaran, he realised, wasn’t _wrong_. At first, his appeal had been his youth, the magic of such a rare thing as a young full-blood elf.

But that was not what he’d fallen in love with, and he realised now that asking Iorveth not to take him away was the wrong thing to do.

Iorveth, obviously, had committed some of his own sins.

And now, frustrated with the two of them for this one last betrayal, unintentional as it might have been, Ciaran could no longer bite his tongue as he had so clearly been doing for the sake of peace.

Cedric didn’t fault him at all. This was something he and Iorveth had done, and their petty coldness toward each other clearly hadn’t helped matters. Ciaran was stressed enough by pain and uncertainty as it was.

“What do you want?” Iorveth asked, and it was the first time Cedric had ever heard him uncertain.

Ciaran bent down to pick up his shirt, fingering the thin fabric nervously. “I want to go and stay with Elihal and Éibhear until you two have come to a point where you don’t feel as though I’m an object to be fought over. I will not choose between you, and I will not put up with anything short of perfect civility. Do I make myself clear?” he asked, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

Cedric nodded, and saw Iorveth do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Good. _They_ , at least, will care for me as an equal.”

Cedric swallowed. The thought of losing Ciaran was already clawing at his throat, but he knew any attempt he made to stop him leaving would only make things worse.

He would simply have to let his little elf go.

***

Ciaran had never been more aware of how large Éibhear was until he’d been settled in his lap, pushed into place by a sympathetic Elihal, who had fussed over him from the moment he’d shown up red-eyed and half-dressed.

Too big for an elf, Ciaran thought, but he could certainly see the appeal of a broader frame, strong arms, and larger hands. Éibhear was very comfortable to sit on, and didn’t seem at all bothered by Ciaran’s presence.

Elihal sat beside him, braiding his hair with nimble fingers.

As he’d said, he was welcome here. He felt even more welcome than he’d expected to, and it took the sting out of the morning’s events.

It did not, however, loosen the constant knot in his stomach at the thought of having shouted at Cedric and Iorveth. Not that they hadn’t _deserved_ it. They had no right to bargain for his presence between them as though either one of them had an unbreakable claim, and hearing that they had once been involved only made the thought of them conspiring over him hurt all the more.

On the other hand, in the quiet moments while Elihal had been using him as a fit model, he _had_ enjoyed imagining them together. Any two elves made a striking pair, but Iorveth and Cedric especially, Ciaran thought. Not least of all because, unfortunately, he _did_ love them.

Both of them.

And Iorveth had just begun to seem like someone he could love fully, someone who was ready to shed his unhappiness and settle down, perhaps not in the imagined land of liberated elves, but at least where there was, for the moment, peace, and quiet, and warmth.

It was better than anything Ciaran had ever known, and he could only dream of the things Cedric and Iorveth had lost. But it was _them_ who needed to grow up, who were acting like children over a past that was long gone and refusing to see the present for what it was.

Not perfect, but the only thing they _had_.

Elihal and Éibhear seemed to have accepted that fully, and vowed between themselves to make the most of the life available to them. To be happy regardless of circumstances, because they had each other.

“They will come around,” Elihal said, tying off Ciaran’s braid deftly with a scrap of ribbon. “And in the meantime, _we_ will make the most of you.”

“I will have to find a way to repay your kindness someday,” Ciaran said, wanting more than anything to hand these two elves the world. He’d never had anyone he could so easily call a _friend_ before. Not a friend he wasn’t afraid of getting attached to, afraid of losing at a moment’s notice.

Ciaran’s entire life had been war and unrest and loss. For the first time, he’d managed to escape that.

Cedric and Iorveth were _not_ going to take that away from him. Not over something so petty as not trusting one another. Which, Ciaran had realised, was what this all came down to.

They had been hurt before, and they expected to be hurt again. Understandable, but something they would have to work out between themselves. It was not Ciaran’s job to tiptoe around two elves much older than he was as though they were children who couldn’t be reasoned with.

“We love you,” Elihal said easily. “And that is repayment enough.”

Éibhear’s arms tightened around him, encouraging Ciaran to relax against his chest. This was the best easy closeness he’d ever had with other elves, and he could barely believe his luck.

Cedric and Iorveth would come around. Even their stubbornness couldn’t possibly be enough to risk what they were so close to having.

***

Iorveth plucked a bottle of cheap spirits out of Cedric’s hand just as the mouth was about to touch his lips, tossing it out the window without a second thought and glaring at him.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “Don’t you _dare_.”

Cedric narrowed his eyes, anger flashing in them. The kind of anger that might have been fatal for another person, any other person who didn’t share their history.

He was hurting.

Iorveth was hurting.

But that didn’t mean he was allowed to just… fall back into bad habits and throw the remainder of his life away, too drunk to enjoy any of it.

Not when Ciaran loved him so dearly. Ciaran had lost enough, and if Iorveth could help it, he would not lose Cedric as well.

Cedric was vastly more worthy of him that Iorveth ever had been.

“He is not coming back here to find you drunk and useless,” Iorveth said.

Cedric’s glare didn’t ease up even a fraction. “You have no idea what this is like for me. You have no idea what it feels like to lose someone who… who _feels_ like…”

“A mate,” Iorveth finished for him, his stomach twisting. “And I do know how it feels.”

At first, Cedric’s brows drew together in a confused frown, and then, like the unfurling of a new leaf, understanding washed over his features.

“You…” Cedric swallowed. “I… Iorveth, I…”

“I lost you,” Iorveth said, struggling to keep his temper behind his teeth, his voice shaking. “I _lost_ you to your own self-pity, to your own loss of faith, to your lack of hope. I loved you and you turned your back on me as though we were strangers. After _everything_ we’d been through.”

“You don’t see the things I see!” Cedric said, turning to face Iorveth head-on, shoulders squared. “I wanted you to. I wanted you to understand how futile it all was, how pointless. Iorveth, I watched you die countless, _countless_ times, run through, shot full of arrows, throat slit, your body broken and covered in blood, and I didn’t want it to be true. And I couldn’t look at you anymore without seeing your ghost.”

Iorveth pursed his lips.

“I am not dead,” he responded quietly, but without any softness. “I am _not_ dead, Cedric.”

“But your fight _was_ pointless,” Cedric growled, taking a step toward him.

“No it wasn’t!” Iorveth’s voice was suddenly much too loud, rough and high, Cedric getting under his skin in just a handful of words as only he could. “Nothing is ever pointless.”

“The Pontar valley is lost and we will _never_ have it,” Cedric said. “Your dragon queen has come to nothing, and you nearly destroyed the most wonderful thing you’ve ever had in the process.”

“I have shown the world that the Aen Seihde will _not_ lie down and die. We will not be lost to history without a fight. We will bite and claw our way to our graves because that is what we _do_. No one, _no one_ will be allowed to forget us. But you would have lain down under fear of defeat out of _cowardice,_ ” Iorveth snarled, baring his teeth. “And now you would drag Ciaran, best and brightest of us all down with you. Because he would stay. He would stay with you, and nurse you through another thirty years of trying your very best to drink yourself to death, and when you finally succeeded, _you_ would have destroyed him.”

“Not if you take him away,” Cedric muttered, defeated. “Not if you take him and go. You heard him. He will not choose, so we must. And you are still young. My time is almost over.”

Iorveth’s stomach swooped, his heart clenching in his chest.

He couldn’t lose Cedric again.

***

When Iorveth moved, Cedric expected a fist to connect with his jaw, and he would have deserved it, and he wasn’t sure why Iorveth _hadn_ _’t_ done it yet.

But then his back was pressed against the wall behind him, and Iorveth was pinning him in place with his sinewy, too-thin frame, all coiled strength, the power of a real warrior barely contained under his scarred and marked skin. His mouth was as hot as ever, just as demanding as it had been almost three decades ago, unafraid to take what he wanted.

Lust flooded Cedric’s belly, a low, needy moan escaping him as Iorveth’s rough fingers slipped under his clothes, barely a pause before he sought out long-remembered sensitive places, touching and brushing and leaving Cedric squirming with need after just a handful of heartbeats, air hissing through his teeth at the sudden shock of pleasure, the surprise of it coming from Iorveth.

Iorveth, who he’d lost so long ago that he was no longer sure of the memories he had of this fierce, beautiful elf who he would never have been brave enough to call his own.

Cedric reached out to cup Iorveth’s scarred cheek, thinking back to the time he’d rescued him, right after this had been done. The joy of seeing Iorveth alive, his shyness afterward, but then renewed confidence as Cedric wrote desire all over his skin with the tips of his fingers, the press of his lips.

He’d fallen in love with Iorveth then. They had been casual partners for a decade, but this event had _changed_ things between them.

And then the visions. The visions of Iorveth dying, over and over. Of them all losing this fight.

And just enough of them had come to pass exactly as Cedric had seen that he believed the rest, as well.

But Iorveth was right. He was _not_ dead.

Not all was lost.

So much had been gained.

Tears welled up in Cedric’s eyes, overflowing before he had even the barest chance to stop them. His heart pounded as Iorveth kissed them away, sharp tongue laving at Cedric’s skin, a shiver of need rushing through him, half memory.

“He will not choose between us,” Iorveth murmured, kissing his way along Cedric’s jaw. “So we must choose to give him both.”

Cedric swallowed. This was too much.

Iorveth, as always, was offering him more than he deserved. More than he could ever deserve.

But Ciaran had taught him that the present was all anyone had, and to grab hold of happiness with both hands.

He reached out to Iorveth, one hand pushed deep into his hair and the other curling around his hip, pulling him in closer. Both hands.

“I have loved you for an age,” Cedric said. “But…”

“No.” Iorveth pressed a finger to his lips. “No buts. I’ve missed you too much.”

Cedric allowed his eyes to fall closed as Iorveth leaned in again, his belly aching with want. If this was something Iorveth would give him, then he would take it eagerly.

***

After three days of pretending that his heart didn’t hurt every time he thought of either Iorveth or Cedric, or every time he watched Elihal and Éibhear kiss with all the love and tenderness in the world, Ciaran made his way back home. If Cedric and Iorveth hadn’t sorted out their differences by now, then…

Well, Ciaran wasn’t sure what to do. All he could hope was that they had at least come to a truce. A truce was a starting point.

What he found, when he let himself in just as the sun was setting, made him smile.

Iorveth and Cedric, naked and tangled up together, sleeping lightly, each of them with peace written all over their faces. His heart clenched, joy threatening to make him cry, and spent a long few moments staring at them.

Cedric woke first, favouring first Iorveth and then Ciaran with a warm, indulgent smile.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, waking Iorveth as he stirred.

Iorveth rolled over to beam brightly at him, adoration shining in his gaze. “Ciaran,” he said, the syllables whispered like an impossibly-answered prayer, and any remaining tension Ciaran had been carrying melted away.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ciaran moved to kneel beside them on the mattress, reaching out eagerly to Iorveth.

“I love you,” he murmured without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve never said.”

Iorveth’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hand trembling as he extended it, reaching out to curl his fingers around Ciaran’s. “You’ve had my heart since I first set eyes on you.”

Tears burst forth, desperate sobs as Ciaran fought to snuggle close, pressing his lips to Iorveth’s, a gash in his heart sealing itself shut as they moaned into each other’s mouths. Another overwhelming wave of love washed over him as he felt Cedric’s hand on his arm, squeezing firmly, assuring him that he was there, too. That they could have this.

Ciaran found himself pressed between the two of them in short order, his clothes being methodically stripped off by two pairs of hands, this time with no lack of passion between their owners.

Their lovemaking was enthusiastic and full of laughter this time, eager touches and kisses that stretched out for hours. Ciaran delighted in watching Iorveth and Cedric together, rediscovering each other’s bodies, remembering secret sensitive places, making him long for the time when the three of them would be like that with each other, so perfectly comfortable, so full of ease and confidence.

Neither elf forgot him, though, both of them touching and groping with renewed urgency, making up for lost time, whispering promises into his skin. Promises, Ciaran believed for once, that they were likely to keep.

Once the three of them were too exhausted and sated to move, they lay in a complex tangle of limbs to catch their breath while their skin cooled.

Ciaran couldn’t remember being happier. He sighed happily, beaming as both Iorveth and Cedric snuggled closer to him. “This is what we have.”

“And it’s worth fighting for,” Iorveth responded, tightening his grip just a little.

“Worth living for,” Cedric added.

Satisfied with that, Ciaran let his eyes fall closed, and dozed off.


End file.
